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The Acaelanites


Esterlen
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At last...

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Wonderful.

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thanks mali :D

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A Tarhadian Cavalier-Marshal rubs his long-unspurred heels with a calloused palm. His memories of the tea-serving traditions of the Acaelanites knot his stomach. He takes another sup of his pipe, hoping the acrid smoke will serve as some unguent to his moral unease.

 

"Blots ae grease awn all ae creation..."

Edited by esterhase
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